Endlessly
by Center of the Galaxy
Summary: "Stiles, how old are you?" She questions, serious. "Eight." He answers immediately. "I'm eight and a half." She states smugly. "And because I'm older, I think that we need to grow up first before we get married." Thus, begins his complicated relationship with Lydia Martin. *one-shot, Stydia, mentions of Stalia, season 4 spoilers*


_** Author's Note: **__I've been writing pretty angst filled Stydia stuff so I felt the need to write some fluff. This still turned into angst, but with a lot more fluffy moments in it. __**Major season 4 spoilers!**__ I hope you'll enjoy!_

* * *

"_There's a shop down the street,_

_Where they sell plastic rings,_

_For a quarter a piece, I swear it._

_Yeah, I know that it's cheap,_

_Not like gold in your dreams,_

_But I hope that you'll still wear it."_

—_The Cab "Endlessly"_

* * *

The first time he purposes to Lydia Martin is on the last day of third grade.

His classmates are packing up their things, eagerly discussing their anticipated plans for the summer and as Stiles sits at his desk, he can't help but let his gaze drift to the beautiful girl in the corner. Her strawberry blonde hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail, but a few loose strands have fallen out of place, obscuring her eyes somewhat, though the girl pays them no mind.

He wants to get up and talk to her, but seeing her so focused on her book—_The Secret Garden_, which she had read three times over the course of the year, he knew because he had asked her about it—keeps him away. He doesn't want to bother her.

The clock ticks away, taunting him.

A few more minutes and Lydia Martin might be gone from his life forever and that's unacceptable.

Shakily, he pushes himself up and purposefully walks over to her desk. He waits for a moment, before coughing somewhat.

"Lydia?"

Her sea-green eyes meet his gaze and her head tilts to the side in confusion somewhat. She doesn't say anything for a few moments, waiting for him to continue talking.

He's tongue-tied.

"Stiles?" She questions quietly, her voice soft with a hint of confusion dyeing it.

He had a speech prepared, really. He practiced it for his mom, who—after she had stopped laughing enough to speak—told him that Lydia would be a fool to turn him down. So, armed with that comment, he'd been prepared to blow Lydia off her feet.

Except . . . he hadn't counted on the stage fright.

"Stiles?" She tries again, placing the book down. "Are you okay? Do you need Mrs. Ashby?"

"No." He answers quickly, arms outstretched pleadingly. "I just . . . I wanted to ask you something."

"Yes."

A long pause; there's only a few minutes left before he loses her to the summer.

"Will you marry me?" He asks, voice rushing, blending all the words together.

Lydia blinks, surprised.

"I think you're really nice," He adds on quickly, recalling bits of the speech in his memory. "And you're beautiful. And smart. And you read a lot so I would get you lots of books."

She smiles, amused.

"Stiles, how old are you?" She questions, serious.

"Eight." He answers immediately.

"I'm eight and a half." She states smugly. "And because I'm older, I think that we need to grow up first."

He deflates, head sinking, but before he can make a hasty retreat, a hand is placed on his shoulder.

"Ask me again when we're older." She states softly, a grin on her peach lips. "Okay?"

He brightens.

"Okay."

It's a promise.

* * *

When his mom dies, he finds himself at Scott's house a lot.

Mrs. McCall makes his favorite foods, rents his favorite movies and lets him stay as long as he wants. She gives him hugs that patch up his shattered heart.

Scott acts like he always does—supportive and awesome—but it's always the nights that Stiles dislikes. After being walked home by Scott and his mom, Stiles must climb up the stairs, head past his mom's room and try to find some peace in the stillness of the night.

It's three days after the funeral that he hears a knock on his door. His father is out—working, maybe, Stiles isn't sure—and though he isn't sure if he has the energy to get out of bed, the knock is insistent and he slowly heads down.

"I'm coming." He mutters, opening the door.

Lydia Martin stands there, appearing as radiant as ever with moonlight surrounding her and a slight breeze blowing her curled hair. She's grown prettier—as if that was even possible—in their first year of middle school and for a brief moment, he's speechless.

"Lydia?" He finally manages to say because it's been months since he and Lydia have spoken. Middle school brought cliques and an 8th grader had decided to groom the strawberry blonde into her successor. Stiles and Scott were outcasts—not fit to even associate with Lydia anymore.

"Can I come in?" Her eyes are red-rimmed and he opens the door, still lost as to what is going on here. She brushes past him and moves to stand by his worn leather couch. "I wanted to say that I was sorry." She grimaces.

"It's not your fault." He replies, gaze growing downcast.

"It wasn't yours either." She insists, coming to place a hand on his shoulder.

A twinge of guilt runs through him, hot like a knife.

"Lydia, what are you doing here?" He asks once more.

"I want to help." She states quickly. "If there's anything you need, Stiles—"

And it's all suddenly too much—being in this house without his mother, seeing her jacket still draped over the couch, having Lydia's hand on his shoulder, her eyes staring at his with such concern—and something within him snaps.

He begins to sob.

Uncontrollable, hysterical sobs that shake his body and he can't make them stop, no matter how much he wants them too. His knees buckle and he sinks to the floor.

Lydia's slender arms pull him close and he buries himself in her neck, savoring the comfort she brings. Her arms hold him securely, as if nothing bad will happen to him as long as he stays within her grasp.

"You'll make it through this, Stiles." She insists, her voice nothing more than a whisper. "You're not alone."

Twenty minutes later, when he's composed enough to untangle himself from her grasp, they go to the door and act as if nothing ever occurred.

"Anything you need from me?" She asks.

He thinks for a moment.

"Marry me?" A ghost of a smile pulls his lips upwards.

She just laughs and he does too and though the pain is still there, she gives him a glimmer of hope.

* * *

The night of the dance, he feels like the luckiest man in the world.

He has Lydia Martin—drop dead gorgeous, the love of his life—on his arm and she's actually smiled at him and they danced together. He had felt a connection between—a real moment where the walls fell and the old Lydia Martin resurfaced.

Then, Jackson shows up and everything seems to fall apart.

Now, he's in her hospital room, counting every breath that she exhales. For a brief, heart-shattering moment, he'd thought she'd been dead on the field. Luckily, she'd had a pulse and though she was stable for the moment that could change at any second.

He's done the hospital vigil before and it nearly broke him.

He's not sure if he's strong enough to make it through this one.

"C'mon Lydia," He tell her limp form, tentatively reaching for her hand. "Wake up."

The door creaks open and he glances to see Scott standing in the doorway.

"Hey." His best friend's voice is soft, yet tinged with a worry that Stiles cannot describe.

"Hi."

Scott comes to stand by Stiles' side and grimaces upon seeing Lydia's pale face.

"We have to leave before her mom gets here." Regret flashes in the werewolf's eyes and it's clear that he doesn't want to leave any more than Stiles does.

"I know." Stiles exhales shakily, letting her hand go.

"She'll be okay." Scott tells him and Stiles lets a weary grin grace his lips.

"Of course she will." He replies quickly. "Lydia Martin doesn't give up."

That's one of the qualities he loves about her.

"Stiles." Scott waits by the door. Their time is up and he has to leave her side once more.

She'd been so beautiful tonight, so happy and now, she's deathly still. Yet, coming close to losing her had made one thing abundantly clear in his mind. A life without Lydia in it wasn't a life for him at all. Sure, maybe she ignores him at school, but he knows the truth about her. He'll stay by her side and when the walls finally do come down, he'll be ready.

That'll be the day he proposes.

* * *

They work well together.

They're the team that researches, that puts the pieces of whatever supernatural puzzle they're facing together. His bedroom has become their unofficial home base and more often than not, he finds Lydia waiting there for him. His father has chosen not to remark on this, though Stiles sure he wants to.

It amazes him how easily accustomed to each other they've become. They've gone from never acknowledging each other He knows, for example, that the strawberry blonde will always sit crisscross with a textbook on her lap. She'll finish whatever sentence she's on before looking up and asking how his day was—though, she already knows the answer to that—and then they'll continue to search for information.

She, in turn, somehow always manages to bring him an iced tea, which, incidentally, he's grown quite fond of ever since she let him have a sip of hers. She'll always place one of his pillows on the side of her, knowing that he likes to spread out while she explains whatever she's discovered.

It's as if they've known each other their entire lives, have always had this kind of relationship together.

* * *

He's waiting for her at her locker when Danny sees him from across the hall. He waves before heading over, coming to rest on the other side of Lydia's locker.

"Hey." Danny greets, an easy smile tugging up his lips. "You and Lydia heading off together again?"

"Yeah." Stiles nods his head, wishing he could tell Danny why the group has been so busy as of late. The whole "having to save Beacon Hills before everyone dies" thing has been taking up a lot of their time.

"You two seem to be spending a lot of time together." Danny remarks, a sly twinkle in his eye. "Are you two—?"

"No." Stiles interjects quickly. "I mean I wish, but . . ." His voice trails off, becoming lost in the wonderful idea of he and Lydia becoming a couple.

"I see." Danny interjects, cutting off his fantasy.

"Danny." Lydia calls, her eyes lighting up upon seeing their mutual friend. She gives him a quick hug before pulling away. "Hey, did you need those chem notes?"

Danny shakes his head and Lydia pushes in-between them opening the locker and taking out her U.S. government textbooks. Stiles' hand darts in and picks up her chem book—he needs it to finish his homework—and Lydia automatically adjusts as if she knew that he was going to do that.

"You guys are like a married couple." Danny teases. "The way you two act around each other . . . it's so natural!"

The remark flusters them.

Stiles coughs nervously, running a hand through his hair.

Lydia stiffens, blushing somewhat before regaining her composure.

"Well, I'll see you two around." Danny waves goodbye to them, unaware that he's touched upon a delicate subject.

There's no denying that there's a connection between the two of them—whether that's unresolved sexual tension or just a bond that's grown between them is anyone else's guess—and that connection has helped not only them, but the pack. The synergy between them has led to countless supernatural revelations and though he wishes that the two of them could be more, he values their relationship now.

Seeing Lydia smile at him, hearing her laughter—that's enough for now.

"A married couple, huh." Lydia remarks, breaking the silence. Her locker closes with a thud and soon, the two of them are heading out to his Jeep in the parking lot.

"Yeah." Stiles replies, slightly flustered.

"Well, you did propose to me in third grade." She flashes a wicked grin at him before climbing into his Jeep.

Stiles just chuckles.

* * *

He's dreamt about getting a kiss from Lydia Martin all his life.

He just never expected that he would receive it in the middle of a panic attack. Yet, as her soft lips press against his, the panic dissipates. All that matters—all that's ever mattered—is this strawberry blonde girl before him. The connection between them is electrifying and it feels like he's been waiting for this moment his whole life.

His mom used to watch old romantic movies and when he had been younger, Stiles used to sit on the couch, in her warm arms and watch them with her. The one thing that he took away from them was that the boy always knew if it was true love before the girl. He would look at her from across a crowded room and like a bolt of lightning, he knew that this was the girl he would marry.

That's what this kiss feels like to Stiles—lighting electrifying his senses and making what's he's believed for so long abundantly clear.

Lydia Martin is the only girl for him.

And when she pulls back and he stares into those crystalline green eyes, he knows she felt it too.

* * *

After Alison's death, they don't see much of each other.

She retreats into herself, so far into her shell that nothing he says seems to get through and he, well, he has Malia to think of. That, coupled with the overwhelming guilt he felt over the whole Nogitsune incident. Like ships passing in the night, the two of them don't seem to come into contact anymore.

Before he knows it, Malia is his girlfriend and the feelings about Lydia get pushed away, stored into a box in the back of his brain.

The routine that he and Lydia built slowly broke apart until it was like it never existed.

* * *

Two months later, Derek goes missing and he and Lydia are a team once more.

He won't deny that it feels right.

* * *

Her ears are bleeding.

That, coupled with the spacey look in Lydia's eyes frightens him.

"Lydia?" Parrish finally speaks up, stepping towards the stunned banshee. The younger officer clearly has no idea what's transpired here, but he's wise enough to not ask any questions and simply settles for motioning the two out the door.

"Meredith." Lydia whispers, pausing in the doorway to face the other girl, who has curled up into a ball and is rocking herself.

"Let's go." Parrish orders, voice soft yet unyielding.

Outside the room, Stiles keeps his arms around Lydia, partly to keep her upright, partly to assure himself that she's safe.

"Your ears." Parrish tries again, reaching a hand towards her.

Lydia jerks back, eyes widening in fright for a millisecond. Then, she seems to come back to her senses and she shakes her head apologetically.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me." Her voice is barely above a whisper and there's more to this than what she's saying, but it's clear that now is not the time or place to have the proper discussion about whatever Meredith's scream meant.

"It's okay." The Deputy tells her, his expression equal parts confused and concerned. "Let's get you to a hospital—" He motions towards the squad car, but Stiles shakes his head.

"No, I've got her." He says it more forcefully than he intended, something about seeing Lydia Martin so shaken that worries him.

"You sure?" Parrish echoes.

"I'm okay." Lydia plasters a smile onto her lips, though it doesn't reach her eyes, something that does not go unnoticed by Stiles. "Really."

"Well, call me or the Sheriff if you need anything." Parrish hesitates before opening the door to his car and getting in. His headlights blind Stiles for a brief moment and then there is silence.

"You sure you don't want to go to the hospital?"

"No." The strawberry blonde grimaces, her eyes glazing over and brow furrowing. Anyone else might mistake this for a sign of weakness, but Stiles knows better. Lydia's mind is racing a mile a minute, trying to put the pieces together and find the solution to whatever Meredith's scream meant.

"Okay, then." He replies, moving her towards the car. "Let's head to my house. We'll get you cleaned up."

She touches the blood and flinches, as if she forgot for a moment.

"Okay." She whispers.

As he pulls onto the main road, his gaze darts to her slender frame. Her eyes are shut and her breaths even, though they're quite shallow. He panics, wondering if maybe he should go to the hospital, if the blood was just an indicator of internal bleeding or something.

"Lydia?"

Her green eyes open and hold nothing but sadness.

"She sounded so lonely."

That's all he ever finds out about Meredith's scream.

* * *

Losing Meredith does a number on her.

He tries to help, but it feels like Alison all over again and he won't lie and say he's out of his depth here. What does he know about banshees, really? He does try though—calls, texts, emails, even attempts to show up at her house—but she always brushes him off.

"I'm okay, Stiles." She lies and he knows she's lying because you don't just spend your life loving someone and then forget things like that. He knows her better than that.

So, he calls in back-up.

Scott tells him to give her space and Malia is starting to seem perplexed as to why he's trying so hard when Lydia obviously doesn't want to talk to him. Kira promises to talk to her, but the kitsune never seems to get any further than Stiles did.

It feels like he's back in freshmen year trying to get Lydia to notice him.

And like back then, he doesn't give up.

He will get through to her.

* * *

It's a normal Saturday when his phone rings.

Glancing at the caller I.D., he grins and places the phone to his ear.

"Scott, I was just about to—"

"_Stiles." _It's the Alpha's bad news tone and instantly, Stiles is up and has his keys dangling from his hand before Scott can even say more.

"Who?" Stiles breathes, because they're all on a hit list and really, it was only a matter of time before one of them was targeted again. He's been preparing himself for this phone call. Really, he shouldn't be so surprised that this is happening.

"_It's Lydia." _

His phone slips out of his grip and clangs on the floor.

* * *

_She was supposed to meet Kira at noon to go shopping. She never showed. We had Parrish track her cellphone and found it in her bedroom. Her window had been shattered and the alarm disabled. Her mom was out of town—someone must've know that—and since her outfit for the day was spread out on her bed, I think she was taken early this morning. _

_Malia found a blood pool near the shattered glass. She's following the scent now with Kira and Liam. I'm going to go out to look too, but I wanted to let you know. Go to the police department. Have your dad put out an APB on her. See if Parrish can help you search her house for something we missed. _

_We're going to find her Stiles. _

_I swear, we're going to find her alive._

* * *

There's a lot of blood at Lydia's house than Scott let on and the sight of it makes Stiles' stomach churn. It's clear the banshee didn't go down without a fight and he's proud of her.

Lydia Martin never did like giving up.

He's envious of Parrish, the Deputy moving around objectively, not feeling the anguish that Stiles is currently feeling. The teenager feels so useless, a human who can't do anything right now, but stand in the bedroom of the girl that he used to love—was she only that to him?—and stare at a blood puddle, wishing that Lydia would show up so that he could put his arms around her and assure himself that she was real and safe.

"I never should've let her be alone." He mutters and Parrish glances up, his expression unreadable. "If I had just been here—"

"Then whomever took her might've taken you or killed you." Parrish completes quickly. "And then Lydia would really be out of luck."

"You don't understand—!" Stiles exclaims harshly, anger rushing through his veins because he should've known better, should've pushed her to open up about Meredith, to be with him more because at least he could've tried to protect her!

"No, I don't." Parrish mutters quietly. "I don't understand a lot about this town or why you and you're friends seem to be at the center of everything, but I do know this." The older man takes a few careful, deliberate steps towards the teen. "If anyone has the best chance of finding Lydia, it's you."

The statement disarms Stiles and he finds that can't respond to it.

He settles for nodding instead.

"Good. Let's get back to work then."

* * *

"You love her, don't you?"

Malia doesn't even bother to ease him into this conversation and he nearly does a double take at the were-coyote beside him. They're in his Jeep, meeting up with Scott to see if he's found anything since the blood trail went cold.

"Who?" He asks, though he's stalling and judging from her incredulous look, she knows it too.

"Lydia." Malia replies softly, her lips being drawn in a tight line.

His grip on the steering wheel increases and now is not the time for this conversation, not with a life on the line, not when he's functioning on sheer adrenaline.

"I, uh, used too."

"And now?" She asks.

A brief moment of hesitation.

"I'm with you." He answers quickly and he knows from the way her gaze falls that it's the wrong answer.

"Stiles," She takes in a breath and lets it out slowly. "I can smell it on you."

"She and I are just friends—" He wants to deny it all, because he cares about Malia and he wants their relationship to work—doesn't he?—and he hasn't thought about Lydia that way in a long time—three days, 4 hours and 12 minutes to be exact—and this cannot be happening now, not when Lydia's missing.

"You love her!" Malia raises her voice and then seems to compose herself. "If I were the one missing, would you still be doing all of this?"

"Of course!" He snaps.

"Because you love me or because I'm part of the pack?" She retorts.

He should be able to answer that question easily, but his tongue is tied and the silence does his talking for him.

"I see." She whispers and her eyes are misted over. "Let's find Lydia then."

"Malia." He wants to tell her that she's the one he loves, but the words won't come out, as if some force inside him refuses to let it happen.

"It's okay, Stiles." Malia says with a rueful grin. "It's okay."

And strangely enough, he feels relieved.

* * *

He's checking the forest with Malia and Scott when he hears the snap of a twig.

Spinning around, he sees Lydia standing there, clutching a bloody arm.

"Stiles Stilinksi," She begins forcefully and it reminds him about that feisty girl in third grade. "It's about damn time."

Before he can say anything, her eyes roll up into her head and she faints.

* * *

His dad arrests a local teacher based on the caliber gun they matched the bullet that pierced Lydia's shoulder to. That, and the skin she managed to get under her perfectly manicured nails, pretty much nails the case closed.

Malia leaves shortly after Lydia gets settled in the hospital and though Stiles knows he should go after her, he can't seem to force himself to leave Lydia's bedside. Scott shoots him a confused glance and Stiles shrugs, unsure of what to tell his best friend.

"Scott." Kira jerks her head to the door and though it takes the Alpha a second to understand, he catches her drift and the two of them make a hasty retreat.

"And then there were two." Lydia remarks softly, her voice slurred somewhat from the pain medication flowing through her veins. She'd been in surgery for a few hours, getting the bullet taken out and the stiches put in.

"How are you feeling?" He asks, the butterflies that he locked away now bursting forth once more and flying around in his stomach.

"Peachy." She smirks. "You know, after being kidnapped and shot."

"Right."

Silence.

"You can go now." Lydia tells him, her eyes locking onto his. "I mean, Malia must be waiting for you, right?" Is there a twinge of jealousy in her tone or is he just imagining it?

"She actually broke up with me."

Her eyes widen comically.

"I'm sorry—"

He waves off her concern.

"I get the feeling that I hadn't been the best boyfriend." He tells her and she tilts her head to the side in confusion. "Losing you today . . ." He hesitates, unsure of how to voice the sheer panic that he felt, like a piece of his soul was being torn apart. "It put things in perspective."

"Like what?" She asks, though he can tell from the way her eyes dart down that she has a very clear idea of what he's talking about.

"Like reminding me how much I love you."

It's funny how the confession rolls easily off his tongue, comes naturally like breathing.

"You . . . what?" She echoes.

"I love you, Lydia Martin."

And that's when he leans over and kisses her.

* * *

The day before Lydia gets released from the hospital, he goes to see Malia.

"I'm sorry."

He expects Malia to yell at him, to hurl accusations at him, to get angry or something, but she simply shakes her head.

"I think deep down," She begins softly. "I think I always knew." She meets his gaze. "You and Lydia, you have a connection. Anyone can see that." She runs her hand through hair and he wishes that there were someway to make this less painful on her. "I could see that, but I just thought . . ." She laughs wetly. "I just thought that I could ignore it."

"Malia, I—"

"It's okay, Stiles." She reiterates. "We're a pack, nothing can change that."

"Thank you." He manages to say, astounded by this turn of events.

"Just . . . give me some time."

She hugs him one last time and it finally feels like everything is back to the way it should be.

* * *

He proposes to Lydia Martin the day she graduates from grad school.

He forgets the speech he prepared, but luckily for him, Lydia seems to understand what he's trying to convey. She's crying and he is too and then they're hugging and people are clapping and this is the best day of Stiles' life.

"Yes." She finally manages to say. "I thought you'd never ask."

He just laughs.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__More fluff than my usual fare. I hope you enjoyed! Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!_


End file.
